


Intriguing

by fizzysodas



Category: Eyewitness (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff, M/M, Slow Burn, Soulmates, im late so late, oh well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 14:18:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9238703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fizzysodas/pseuds/fizzysodas
Summary: Philip ran his hand over his wrist. The name Lukas Waldenbeck was written in ink with jerky movements. He traced the name carefully with his pinkie. The L resembled a C and the W was tilting, the lines crossing over each other. He had the name memorized, the mistakes and curves too; he’d been tracing it since he was a child.





	

Philip ran his hand over his wrist. The name _Lukas Waldenbeck_ was written in ink with jerky movements. He traced the name carefully with his pinkie. The L resembled a C and the W was tilting, the lines crossing over each other. He had the name memorized, the mistakes and curves too; he’d been tracing it since he was a child.

“Philip?”

The social worker was a short woman, in her late forties, she wore her hair short and little red heels. Philip found the color of the shoe comforting, it reminded him of his mom’s favorite dancing shoes, but the style was stiffening. The heel was bulky and a thick strap crossed over her lower ankle. The toe was rounded and short.

“Philip?” she asked again, turning his head away from her feet and towards her face. That wasn’t any more pleasant.

“Yeah?” he sounded rude and ignorant. He wanted to yell that he wasn’t rude or ignorant. That he knew the horrors of this world and knew his manners. Instead, he continued to stare past her eyes and out the window.

Outside the world was screaming by, vided greens and nude browns mixed together. They passed through a small town with old buildings and quaint homes. Then they were thrown back into the world of greens and browns and tall, looming trees.

 “We’re here.”

And the car came to a stop.

A large, but simple, house stood on a large piece of land. It had a wraparound porch with rocking chairs, sitting delicately on top. The house had tall windows and a wooden door. The roof was layered around a tall chimney, puffs of smoke pooled out. An old barn stood behind the house, the giant doors were open, and two smaller barns were off to the side.

The land was complete with tall farm-like grass, short hills, and tall oak trees. In the distance a forest was growing, smaller, newer trees in the front and taller, older trees in the back. Philip couldn’t see it all, there was so much, but he betted that there was more.

A dirt/gravel driveway started on the road, were the social worker's car was parked, and continued up to the house where two cars were parked. A large pickup truck and jeep, a sheriff’s jeep.

“Why is there a sheriff here?” Philip asked, turning back to the social worker. He’d forgotten her name. Was it Kim or Judith?

“Helen, your foster mother, is a sheriff.” she said, climbing out the car, indicating that Philip should do the same.

“Oh,”

Philip pulled out his backpack and plastic grocery bag. His clothes were gently folded and rolled in the plastic bag, he couldn’t find the reusable grocery bag he normally used, and his backpack held personal things. His backpack was a constant in his life. It went everywhere with him. He never left it in the house, was careful to hold it to his chest on the subway, and keep the zippers closed when walking down streets.

The front door slammed open and two people stepped out, short women and slightly taller man. Philip closed the car door and took a hesitant step forward. They had already descended to steps and started walking down the gravel driveway towards the car.

The women had a confident way of walking and the man walked with a calm and freeing since. They were both smiling, though; Philip realized this as they stepped forward. His hand drifted to his wrist and traced the L and then the W.

He could smile. For these kind, willful people. He could smile and shake their hands and let them feed him and care for him. He could smile and tell them that they were great. Then he could leave. It wouldn’t be personal (maybe it would) and they might be sad at first. But they’d get over it and find a cute toddler to care for or a respectable teen without issues. They might forget him, but maybe they wouldn’t forget that he smiled.

“Hi, I’m Philip,” he stepped forward, smiling. And they grinned back.

*

He did have to go to school as it turns out. It wasn’t an option out here in the country. He was given three days and the weekend to settle in. He spent most of it exploring, even though Helen and Gabe had taken off time to get him settled in, the woods was his favorite.

At first, the trees were thin and young, barely a decade old, but as he continued on the trees became old and beautiful. The branches extended over, exploring their neighbor's branches, creating canopies of moss and spider webs.

In the morning the ground was wet with dew and caught glimpses of the sun, sparkling, through the branches and leaves of the trees. As the day progressed the dew dried and the ground was dry. In most parts, there were only dead leaves, but there were a few meadows with tall, prickly grass. He’d come across a few ponds, too.

Philip had seen a few deer and an abundant of squirrels. He suspected that there was more wildlife, hiding, and he just wasn’t taking the time to sit and wait. Philip had patience. It came naturally to him and he never struggled with it, even as a kid. His mother always bragged that she had the perfect son, quite, patient, and kind. Whenever he told people this, his face flushed and he shook his head, smiling softly.

“Philip?”

Gabe was standing at the door. His silhouette was dark from Philip’s unlit room and the bright hallway.

They’d given him the downstairs room; it had a closet and a bathroom across the hall. Philip knew it wasn’t permanent, it was a simple guest bedroom, and when exploring the house he’d come across a room with a queen size bed, windows, and curtains. Philip’s gut had clenched, then, he was just a period in their lives, not a permanent thing. He could eventually leave and be forgotten.

‘Wasn’t that what you wanted, though?’ he’d thought to himself, leaving the room. The truth was that he didn’t want to be forgotten. He didn’t want to leave this wonderful citadel.

He stopped exploring the house after that. Instead, he went outside and walked through the barn.

“Yeah?” he said, pulling himself up.

“Whatcha doing?” Gabe asked.

“Reading,” he said, holding up a book from the library. It was old and page twelve was ripped. Most of the books were like that in the library. The librarians were nice, though.

“You need a lamp or something?” asked Gabe, gesturing to the empty bedside table.

Philip hesitated, putting his book to the side, and nodded. He did and he hadn’t found a miniature reading light yet.

“Come on,” said Gabe gesturing for Philip to follow him as he walked out into the hallway. Philip got up from the bed, the mattress creaking, and pulled back the sheets sluggishly.

“How do you like it here?” asked Gabe.

“Okay, I guess.”

“Miss home?”

“Yeah,” mumbled Philip, unsure, “Well, sort of.”

“Yeah.” nodded Gabe.

He had a nice way of talking. He didn’t say much, he didn’t yell, or stress, but he pulled the words out of you. Slowly, like honey, but he did. He got you talking and laughing and opening up your brain and heart. It unnerved Philip. 

Gabe led him to a small door, it was wooden and had a brass handle. It was old, like everything else in this house. He didn’t say anything as he pulled opened the door, struggling only slightly, and started to climb steep wooden steps. Philip followed.

The basement was full of stuff.

Boxes, stuffed to the brim, chairs, and desks, broke tables and fancy tables, refrigerators and bookcases. Painting’s leaned against a cold concrete wall and ancient cleaning supplies decorated bare surfaces. A toy rocking horse was covered in dust and a crib, half way built, was leaning against a stack of cardboard boxes.

“If this all yours?” he asked, dodging a box of Christmas decorations.

“No!” chuckled Gabe, “No. Some of it’s mine and some of its Helens. But most of it belongs to the people who used to live here.”

“Oh,”

Philip opened his mouth, and then closed it. He meets Gabe’s eye briefly before jerking his gaze to the dusty concrete floor. Paint and dirt speckled the ground. He wasn’t sure if he should apologize or not. What if Gabe knew the family, what if he didn’t, what if it was weird or what if he was being rude? He pursed his lips.

“They didn’t die, Philip.” stated Gabe, chuckling slightly.

“Oh!” repeated Philip, his face flushed.

Gabe laughed and pointed to a table. Five or so lamps sat there, gathering dust and rotting away. They were old and fancy, too. Certainly not a basic lamp for a teenager. Philip bite his lip, looking at Gabe uncertainly.

“You sure I can have one?” he asked, turning back to the lamps. They were so delicate.

“Yeah,” said Gabe, leaning against a refrigerator.

“O-okay.”

He ran his across the shades, all made with thick fabric, and gently skimmed the bases, glass, bronze, and mosaic patterns. One had a suede shade, embroidered roses decorated the edges, and the base was a dark green, all glass. The light wasn’t great in the basement, but he could tell that it caught the light beautifully.

“That one?” questioned Gabe. His feet shuffled on the ground and Philip nodded. He picked it up, gingerly, and followed Gabe out of the basement, carefully to avoid any collisions.

As they climbed the steep steps Philip noticed an inky writing on Gabe’s wrist. He couldn’t tell what was written or how it looked, only the black permanent ink.

“Are you and Helen soul mates?” asked Philip, surprising himself. It was such a personal question.

“Yes,” smiled Gabe, opening the trap door and climbing out, taking the lamp from Philip and helping him up. “We are.” He handed the lamp back to Philip and smiled again, looking him in the eye. He was waiting for another question, Philip could feel it, he wanted to pull it out of Philip and force him to share his heart and soul. Philip wasn’t having it.

“That’s cool,” he clutched the lamp, “I’m going to go read, now.”

“Okay,” he said, “I’m taking you to school in the morning, that okay?”

“Yes,” said Philip, before turning on his heel and heading down the hallway.

*

Philip’s fingers traced the name on his wrist. Over and over again he spelled out _Lukas Waldenbeck_.

He was standing in the snack aisle in the Lansdowne gas station, a mile or two away from Gabe and Helen’s farm. He stopped here a lot, sometimes he sat at the crappy coffee table and did homework, other times he wonder the store and thought about things.

He never bought anything, though. He didn’t have the money. He was sure that Gabe or Helen would give him some money if he asked, but he wasn’t about to ask. There wasn’t anything in here that he wanted or needed. It was nice, though, to have money to buy a soda or bag of chips just because.

They owners had yet to ask him to leave or stop staying. He figured it was because no one ever came in anyways. Sometimes the women brought him cups of hot cocoa while he studied. At first, he refused, but the women kept bringing them, insisting.

Now he drank hot cocoa every Friday and Wednesday. He was starting to like this gas station. And that made him feel pathetic. His hang out spot was an old, practical abandoned, gas station.

He slumped his shoulders and shuffled back to his table. His backpack was sitting on top, his economics notebook open and ready to be studied. He stared at it loathingly. He hated economics. But he sat down and started to flip through it, pondering everything but economics.

“Hey.”

A pretty boy with bleach blond hair and bright blue eyes was standing next to his table. He was tall.

“Hi.” said Philip gently closing his notebook.

“Um, you have my economics class right?” said the boy gesturing to Philip’s closed notebook.

“I guess.” shrugged Philip. He wasn’t sure what this boy wanted, maybe he needed help studying or something.

“Yeah. Homeroom.”

“Yeah,” Philip said, nodding.

This conversation defiantly wasn’t planned. He could feel the boy panicking, desperately searching for another question to ask Philip. Questions were the soul of conversation, after all.

“It’s a hard topic, huh?” asked Philip.

The boy lit up, grinning. His thin lips stretch into a wide smile, showing his white teeth and soft dimples. It was all very intriguing. “Yeah, it totally is.”

“Ms. Beech is crazy. She gives way to much homework,” said Philip, adjusting himself to face the boy.

“And here quizzes are so hard, like, we didn’t even study half to content!”

“I know!” agreed Philip. “I’m Philip, by the way.”

The boy froze and bit his lip.

“Shea?” he asked warily. Philip nodded carefully. The boy pursed his lips trying to contain a smile.

“I’m Lukas Waldenbeck.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm super late on Philkas week, I haven't had time to upload anything because school is a thing. It's the weekend now and I can work on it. (yay!) And all my other fics. Thanks so much for reading and all that stuff.


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